What Can I Say
by shedoc
Summary: Blair's love of music was developed at an early age...
1. First Verse

What can I say?Disclaimer: The Sentinel, Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison, Simon Banks, and all other characters are property of Paramount and Pet Fly. No copyright infringement is intended, and no money has exchanged hands.

What can I say?

by Shedoc

What can I say?

It's been a nasty day from minute one. The hot water heater died and neither of us had a hot shower. The night had been a stifling hot one and there had been no breeze to cool my Guide down. The fan in his room rattled annoyingly so he refused to use it - and threatened me with physical harm when I told him to anyway. The fuse in the fridge blew and everything spoiled overnight without me noticing because of the headache I had from yelling at Sandburg. The truck refuses to start and we end up in his classic - which for once is running like a charm.

So, no morning routines to buffer us against police work. It's the summer break and Sandburg is spending his time at the station during the day and working on assignments or whatever at night. We have an argument about it on the way to work - I want him to take some time off the police side of things and he won't even consider it unless I take some time too. I finally shut up when he threatens to get out of the car and walk. We're stuck in a traffic jam so he could, but I'd have to hotwire the car if I wanted to use it to get to work.

Simon is in a bad mood - I suspect Joan and he have had another engagement in the long battle that is their divorce. Sandburg goes to sit at Brown's desk and everyone instantly starts giving me funny looks and a wide berth. Obviously if Sandburg is staying away everyone else should too. He gets sympathy and I get dirty looks. That doesn't improve my mood any. The air conditioning is out of order and the windows don't open anymore after Kincaid.

Captain Banks roars for us from his office and we head in in a hurry - we've both had that tone aimed at us before, the 'get in here and shut up' tone. He tells us that the Cascade Symphony Orchestra was expecting some new instruments to be shipped to them yesterday and the shipment was stolen before it arrived. The Mayor has requested me personally to deal with the investigation - it's nearly election time and the Mayor has been very supportive of the arts lately in an effort to grab more votes. My mood worsens - I hate being singled out by politicians. I don't say anything though, because the vein in Simon's temple is throbbing and I can feel the rise in his blood pressure from the other side of the desk.

We cram into Sandburg's ridiculously small and hot car and head over to the conservatory. The value of the missing instruments? Only thirty million dollars - how much does a violin cost anyway?

The Director is in the main performance hall - a place acoustically designed to amplify noise. Sandburg tells me to tone down my hearing before we enter and then steadies me when I stumble as the echoes of the orchestra warming up hit me. He gives me the look I hate the most - the one that questions his worth and place in my life. The one where I can see him calculating how long it will take him to pack and where he'll store his stuff when I tell him to get the hell out of our home. The one he gets when I'm being the biggest jerk in the Universe and ignoring his advice and the constant support he offers. I wince from the look and he misinterprets it, swinging into Guide mode and offering a quick monologue as we ease our way down the aisle to the Director.

He's a thin man with balding white hair and a very straight back. At first I thought he was shaking with age - then I realized it was anger and the posture might have been from whatever had been jammed up his … I sigh and cut the guy some slack - the Symphony was always struggling to make ends meet and the new instruments were going to make a big difference to the school that was attached to the conservatory. I identify myself and he breaks in, roaring about how the last thing he needs right now is a detective - what he needs is a conductor, since his just walked out after his application for a raise was turned down.

I rapidly haul in the slack I was going to cut this man when Sandburg volunteers to warm the orchestra up. He sticks his hand out, says hello and suggests the Director talks to me while he goes over the score with the orchestra. To my everlasting astonishment the Director instantly mellows and practically hustles me into a seat in the tenth row back from the stage. He prods me into asking questions while my Guide gets up on the stage and starts chatting to the musicians up there. He stands at the podium thingy that the conductor would normally stand at and goes through the pages of music there as he talks to them. I stop hesitating and get in a solid twenty-minute interview that shows me some light at the end of the tunnel.

I wrap the interview up and stand, thanking the Director. The old guy grabs my arm and sits me back down, telling me that I don't want to miss this - it's a rare thing to watch a private rehearsal of this caliber. My expression must have told him how confused I am, but he waves me into silence. The door up the back opens and I glance around. There's an audience in the back rows all of a sudden - students from the conservatory mostly and a few teachers and administrators. I want to get Sandburg out before he humiliates himself, but the Director hits me with a glare as bad as Simon's and I slump into my seat, silently vowing to kill the witnesses to this nightmare later. I know he can play the piano and guitar - it seems that at one time or another the musicians that Naomi dated at least instilled the basics into her curly haired genius, but it's a long way from knowing how to play an instrument to directing an orchestra.

Blair quiets everyone down and stands straight before them. I'm hoping that the orchestra is good enough to carry him - in other words, play the music without a conductor. His hair is out and he's wearing his glasses to read the paper in front of him. He's wearing a linen shirt untucked over faded blue jeans and hiking boots - what I privately call his 'anthropologist on a field trip' look. He looks vulnerable to me up there and my Sentinel instincts are telling me to protect, but I know I can't. His voice drifts lightly off the stage as he gathers them together and he picks up the white stick - I guess it's called a baton - that conductors use.

The body language on stage gets that much more focused, like tigers about to leap up and rip something limb from limb. I put the thought aside, knowing that he volunteered to do this and more than a little astonished that the Director agreed to it. I reach out with my senses into the silence and check my Guide over. His heart rate is steady and calms his breathing normal. His shampoo caresses my nose and the muscles in his shoulders and back ripple smoothly. He is calm and in control - much more so than he should be. I begin to wonder what's really going on here - what have I missed about my best friend and Guide.

The baton lifts and everyone settles into readiness. Like a hound will when it sees the game. The baton sketches the time and then everything changes. I know instantly that he's carrying them, not the other way around. The music starts with a simple theme, dominated by brass and echoed by string. His bearing is upright and the energy flows from him to the orchestra to the music. I let my hearing soak up the beauty of it and feel my muscles relax as the positive energy flows from the people in front of me. I sense joy in the music. It's a full on piece from the first note.

The music changes. The strings dominate - changing the whole mood into a sadder, more reflective piece. Just as I'm beginning to be uncomfortable, my Guide adds tension to the piece. The strings become urgent and hurried with the brass sounding long ominous notes to emphasize the urgency. The urgency seems familiar to me and I waste time trying to figure out why - what is my Guide doing? His posture sways as he pulls more emphasis from one section or another and the music soars to a climax before changing again.

The strings soothe and calm us. The brass anchors us to the mood and I relax again as it repeats it's cycle. Woodwind weaves a little harmony through the piece and the Director sighs beside me in pleasure. I spare him a glance - he's on the edge of his seat in anticipation, his eyes fixed on my Guide in such a way as to make me want to tell him to back off. Sandburg is mine. His whole body is involved in coaxing the sound into the shape he wants now and I settle back in awe to watch. Percussion is punctuating the music deftly and I see him nod to one or another musician when they get it right.

On the stage my personal confounder adds some more to the tension and then weaves it all into a triumphant climax. I feel like he's telling me a story without words - one where the good guys triumph over the bad. Woodwind continues to lead the harmonies through their changes as brass and string swap roles. The finale leaves me feeling warm and relaxed - like we've just stepped into the loft at the end of a long day and plan to do nothing more than hang out on the couch together with the TV and some delivered dinner.

The silence at the end is like a slap and Sandburg puts the baton down before turning the pages back to the beginning. I'm still focused on the story that I've just heard - well most of it anyway and I miss what he says to the musicians in front of him. Some of them frown. They all nod in agreement. He talks some more and I let the sound wash away the bad day we've been having. People on stage shift around a little and to my delight he picks up the baton again. I lean forward, rest my arms on the seat back in front of me and settle in to hear the whole story again - this time from the beginning.

The second run through is flawless - and I can't believe the difference. I watch him move with the music. I realize the finale is echoing the theme the brass started at the beginning - it's come full circle, but matured. He puts the baton down again and I think about the story that he just told me. A hurried, energetic start to the day - full of familiar and comforting things. Arriving at work and plunging headlong into a case. The sadness of the victims, the hurt of the survivors. Catching the trail of the perpetrators. The chase to gather evidence, the chase to catch them. The waiting game where we try to buoy each other's spirit and process the days events. The final showdown where we catch the suspect and everything is righteous. Celebrating with colleagues that we won and no one got hurt. Returning home to unwind together, ending the day in our way. Preparing for tomorrow.

The people up the back applaud and my Guide effaces his skill to them, handing the credit to the orchestra. I wonder what story they heard in the music - was it about their hopes and dreams? Did it touch their reality? Am I seriously thinking this stuff or have I suffered a head trauma? My Guide jumps down off the stage after thanking the musicians in front of him and the Director thanks him. Tells him it's good to see Sandburg hasn't forgotten all he was taught as a boy. Asks him to keep in touch - offers a sort of guest conductor position, which gets turned down immediately. Offers an emergency fill in position that is reluctantly accepted.

Then my Guide steps to my side and we go arrest the conductor that quit and recover the instruments he was planning to sell overseas in lieu of his pay rise.

That evening we return to the loft. I discover that this morning when he was in exile at someone else's desk he managed to organize a plumber and electrician and gave his key to Taggert - it was Joel's day off - so they could fix the water heater and fridge. Taggert even bought some milk, eggs and bacon for tomorrow's breakfast. We end up doing what the music told me would happen. Hanging out on the couch and eating delivered food.

Four months later Major Crimes sits in the tenth row with me and watch my Guide tell his story. He tells several stories and at the end they're on their feet cheering for him. Afterwards they ask me why didn't I tell them sooner about this. What can I say?

End

Comments, criticism, suggestions? Please e-mail shedoc.


	2. Second Verse

Authors note: I got this particular idea whilst walking the dog….you have been warned! (It's a bit sappy too.)

**What can I say…Second verse**

"So tell me again, Jim. How did Sandburg get talked into this?" Simon settled into the chair next to his friend and looked up at the curtained stage. The lights were low and canned music was being piped into the auditorium as the audience filed in, men and women in good suits and dresses, speaking in low voices and clutching programs.

"Well, you know last year, he was guest conductor for the Cascade Symph? It seems that the music conservatory is like the mafia, once in never out," Jim chuckled, "And this is the first year that they decided that their graduates would combine with the performing arts school and come together to showcase their talents. Media students are running the promo and graphic design and this is their major assessment piece. All the backstage stuff is also being run by students, as is the performance itself. A couple of dances, some original music and then of course the orchestra…"

"Jeeze, is motor mouth catching?" Rafe interrupted, "We get the point, Jim. The students are running the show and this is their make or break assessment opportunity…what's that got to do with Hairboy?"

The row of people from Major Crimes laughed quietly, getting a few curious looks from the people around them. Jim growled at Rafe in an almost friendly manner and folded his arms in what his partner would have called - to his face no less, no one could say that Blair was a coward - the 'I'm sulking' posture.

"Spill it, Jim," Rhonda advised him in a no nonsense tone. She was the department secretary, so she had to be obeyed - you'd never find any of your files ever again and Simon would kill you for ticking her off. She was the best in the PD and he wasn't going to risk losing her.

"Yes ma'm," Jim tipped her a little salute, "The composer who was supposed to give the orchestra her final work and then conduct it had an accident, and she's spent the last year in rehab. She's going to recover, and she'll graduate next year. They needed someone to fill in, because the orchestra is made up of students who are of course…"

"Graduating," several people chimed in and he nodded.

"And the Director got a hold of Sandburg to take her place," Jim sat back; glad to have been able to finish.

"So the orchestra is only doing one piece?" Simon sounded a little disappointed. He'd enjoyed watching their observer coax the music into shape from the people playing. The tunes were pleasant and the skill level undeniable.

"No, they're going to do five pieces. Some of the traditional stuff, you know, Mozart and the like, and one original piece," Jim replied, "They're at the end because the stage needs to be set up as a tier and it takes too long. There's gonna be an intermission and then they'll get it started."

"Meanwhile we're stuck with dancers and singers," Brown muttered gloomily, "I only came to watch Hairboy weave his magic."

"Relax, you heathen," Joel reprimanded, "You may be pleasantly surprised."

Jim chuckled lightly and sat back. Blair had been working three full time jobs lately, though Jim had the grace - finally! - not to call him on it. He'd merely done his best to ensure that the police side of things was a stress free as possible for his partner. That hadn't been too hard, despite the fact that Cascade seemed to be a hotbed of crime and corruption at times they'd managed not to run across any cases that were too weird. The other departments were busy as hell, but Major Crimes was going through a fairly quiet period. Maybe the gods that watched over the Sentinel and Guide were finally trying to give them some time off.

Simon spent the first half of the performance watching Jim and the stage simultaneously. The lights and sounds were a little intense and he didn't want to have to locate Sandburg backstage to haul his best detective out of a zone.

Each piece or artist was prefaced by a media presentation on the backdrop. They were introduced, given a quick glimpse into the performer's past and accomplishments. It was interesting, even if the performance itself didn't appeal directly to a person's taste you at least appreciated where the performer was coming from. You got a feel for who the people on stage were and at the very least wished them well.

By intermission, however, the men and women of Major Crimes was glad of the chance to get up and stretch their legs. Sandburg might complain that he was surrounded by giants, but there was some truth to it. The auditorium wasn't designed for people with long elegant legs to sit still for a great length of time.

"So far so good," Henri confessed when Rafe asked what he thought, "The bio stuff is interesting too. I like the way they combine the information with 'home movies' and interviews."

"That last dance was pretty intense," Rhonda smiled, "I'd never have thought of doing that with traditional dances."

"How they didn't hurt themselves with all that leaping about is beyond me," Jim grumbled. The atonal music had been pretty jarring to someone with perfect pitch - a gift or curse - depending on how you looked at it - of Sentinel hearing.

The audience around them was chatting idly, discussing what they'd seen and whom they knew on stage. Simon ducked behind Jim to avoid the Mayor and the Commissioner, who usually attended such performances. The DA was also around somewhere, as was the Arch Bishop of Cascade. All the beautiful people were out in force tonight, here to see and be seen. The proceeds from the night would be split, half going to the conservatory and the other half to the Cascade Kids with Cancer Foundation.

Jim had been listening to the barely muffled thumps and curses as the backstage crew rebuilt the stage into an orchestra pit. He grinned lightly at one of the more inventive pieces of invective and settled into the seat again as the gong sounded for the end of intermission.

"I wonder what the bio for Hairboy will be?" Henri mused as they got settled again.

"He won't have one, will he? I thought he was just filling in like last year?" Joel sounded startled and Simon glanced over at Jim. The Detective shrugged and settled back to enjoy the last part of the evening.

The first piece was to showcase a pianist, and her bio was interesting enough. The 'screen' had been moved to allow the orchestra room, now it seemed to surround the edges of the orchestra on all three sides, and was tinted to suit the piece that was being performed.

Jim was sitting almost on the edge of his seat, his eyes glued to his Guide. Blair wore a light blue linen shirt tucked into dark dress pants. His sleeves were rolled up to expose lightly muscled forearms and his hair was pulled back with a black velvet ribbon. He smelt of excitement, pleasure and the fragrance was like a fine wine to the Sentinel. His body moved gracefully, the compact, muscular form seeming to coax the sounds out of thin air. For Jim there was no one else on the stage, the music being created solely by his Guide. It was a zone of sorts, and one that Simon finally spotted, bringing Jim out of it at the end of the third piece of music.

Jim exchanged a sheepish look with his boss and sat back a bit, missing the grins of his colleagues. They all know that the only reason Jim was here was to watch his friend; the other acts had merely been something to be endured, despite their merit and calibre.

"Our composer and conductor tonight is…after what is far too long a stretch…finally completing his qualifications with us," the Director appeared up on the screen and Jim didn't miss Blair's little jump of surprise, "I first met this young man when he was twelve years old and I was working as a conductor with the Philharmonic in a recording studio…we were having some difficulties and I stepped out of the studio with instructions for the orchestra to await the arrival of another conductor. When I came back with the woman in question…."

On the screen an old image appeared, a large recording studio draped with the gear of that time, in which sat a very informally dressed orchestra. The shot was coming from the sound booth, and the Director, a much younger man than now, was asking what was going on. The orchestra was playing and in front of it - on a box so he could see over the podium - was a very small twelve-year-old boy with flyaway curls, ratty clothes and sandals. It was undoubtedly Blair.

"He asked if he could play with them and they said yes…they're on break anyway," one of the sound technicians grinned over his shoulder, "They're not half bad…."

"Anyone who is listening closely can tell that they are a little out of time," the Directors voice cut in over the scene, "However, that was also evident to our surprise conductor…as you will see…"

On screen Blair stopped them and fixed the horn section with a glare that would later straighten up wayward freshmen and Sentinel's.

"You're not watching the timing," he scolded, his voice a young pipe, "Start from the beginning again, and this time watch me!"

There were a few chuckles, but the men and women in the room turned back to the start. This time they stayed in time as Blair led them through a quirky version of the music on their stands. Just as they got to the end Naomi's voice cut in and Blair thanked the people in front of him before scampering out.

Jim noticed up on the stage that Blair was getting more and more nervous, his eyes scanning the music in front of him over and over, before he fiddled with the baton, placing it on the podium and picking it up again repeatedly. He wondered what the problem was. Maybe his friend was worried about the personal information they were hearing? Blair was a pretty private person, after all, which often led Jim to wonder why he'd choose to live with a Sentinel - despite the fact that Jim tried to tune out of Blair's private life as much as possible.

"I located him again later that day with a rather famous musician of the times. His mother was connected to the group and while they were putting together an album that later went to the top of the charts, young Blair Sandburg spent his time playing with whatever instruments or musicians he could find. We kept in touch over the years and tonight he is presenting an original piece of music, written by himself as a gift for his colleagues in the audience. It is a pleasure to present to you the debut piece entitled …Major Crimes."

The eleventh row sat up as if electrified, and Blair squared his shoulders as if he could feel their gaze. As one they all turned to look at Jim, who shrugged helplessly. The orchestra picked up their instruments; ready to begin this last piece and Blair took a slow breath before smiling at them all and sketching the time.

Sound seemed to swirl out in a silver ribbon, ensnaring the audience in its spell. This was only an introductory piece, but it was compelling none-the-less. The screens around the orchestra, instead of tinting to some neutral colour, showed a shot of the bullpen during a busy time. The music seemed to reflect the sound of the phones and voices. As the camera - Jim remembered Blair coming in with one months and months ago - zoomed in on each person, a section of the music they were listening to became heightened, fitting to the personality of the face they were watching. Simon's commanding tone and stride echoed for a long moment, followed by Rhonda's cool organisation and brilliant skills. Brown's humour and deft movements wove over them, offset by the suave sounds of Rafe. Joel's compassion and intelligence sparkled for all to see, augmented by Jim's strength and speed. The audience came to realise that the music was made up of all these themes, woven inextricably together to make one glorious whole.

It got a standing ovation.

Epilogue

Blair looked up cautiously as the people from Major Crimes pushed through the after concert crowd of gushing high society and tensed a little. They surrounded him silently, each person looking at him with an intensity that made him a little uncomfortable.

"So…" his voice trailed off, then he squared his shoulders, straightening up, "Did you like it?"

As one they pulled him into their arms, hugging him, ruffling his hair, the applause and approving comments around them going unheard. Blair melted into the touches, relieved that he hadn't alienated a group of people he admired and respected as more than friends.

"So…you liked it," the composers voice was muffled a little, and the group broke the hug, putting him back on his feet, but staying close, crowding him and his partner, who still had an arm around the trim waist.

"No," Jim growled.

"It wasn't finished," Simon added.

"Yeah Hairboy, there was a piece missing," Brown nodded.

"You should rewrite it," Rafe put in.

"You can't let people listen to something unfinished like that," Rhonda scolded.

"What?" Blair gasped, his cheeks flushing.

"Where were you?" Joel asked gently, "You weren't in it."

"Can't have Major Crimes without you," Jim said it gently. Blair's grip on his shirt was crushing the fabric, but the Sentinel didn't mind. The scent of fear was being replaced by pleasure, as it should be.

"Most irregular," Simon chimed in.

"Not to mention bad dharma," Rafe told him.

"That's karma, Bri," H corrected, rolling his eyes.

"Thanks, Blair," Rhonda kissed his cheek.

-end-


End file.
